


Strawberry Fucking Shortcake

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:13:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4331619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is hot like the sun, okay? Insanely gorgeous but kind of scary at first, what with the leather, and stubble. But it turns out that Derek Hale's favorite desert is strawberry fucking shortcake, because Derek is made of sunshine and unicorns and Stiles wants to wrap him in a warm blanket and play Enya while giving him coffee and pastries.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Another bakery AU that no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Fucking Shortcake

**Author's Note:**

> First aid references for burns is completely from a google search.

Derek Hale is by far the worst thing that has ever happened to Stiles and yes, Scott, that includes the 4th grade worm incident. It’s not enough that Derek is the most beautiful person Stiles has ever seen, no, Stiles could have handled that easily, but Derek also is the biggest softie in the entire world. Granted, when Derek had first walked into the little bakery Stiles and Scott owned, they’d both assumed from the scowl and the leather and the stubble that he’d be a total dick. And honestly, Stiles would have been fine with that. Gorgeous and evil, that’s pretty much his type. But as it turns out, Derek is about as malevolent as a marshmallow peep.

Stiles had been working behind the counter when Derek came in for the first time. Steeling himself, Stiles had plastered on his ‘customer face,’ ready to deal with what he was sure would be a rude and abrasive asshole, only to be stunned stupid by that _smile_. Derek had glanced up from the display case and given Stiles a small, nearly shy smile and honestly, Stiles was happy he didn’t start drooling. Derek had ordered a coffee and a slice of strawberry shortcake, _strawberry fucking shortcake_ , then put $5 in the little animal rescue fund jar Scott had put next to the register in lieu of a tip jar. Stiles knew right then that he was so beyond fucked.

The bell over the door tings a little after 9:00 am and Stiles looks up with a grin. Another thing Derek Hale is great at; perfect punctuality. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, leaning against the counter casually (he hoped). “What can I do for you, oh bearded wonder?” And yeah, Stiles has had some serious fantasies about the beard burn from that stubble, preferably on his inner thighs.

Derek rolls his eyes but his lips are quirked up. “Stiles,” Derek says. Stiles, as always, fights the full-body shiver at the way his name sounds in Derek’s soft voice. “Take a wild guess.”

“Coffee and strawberry shortcake, it is,” Stiles says, setting about making Derek’s drink with just the right amount of sugar and cream. He’d memorized it pretty quickly, due to the ridiculous moans Derek lets out when Stiles makes the drink just right, the moan that made Stiles’ pants get a little too tight. “You know, your love of strawberry shortcake doesn’t really match your appearance.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Would you prefer I asked for the heart of a child on a golden plate?”

Stiles barks out a laugh that almost immediately turns into a hiss when the coffee sloshes out of the cup and over Stiles’ hand. Cursing, Stiles yanks his hand back and jams it into the glass of water Stiles has been drinking on and off all morning.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks. He’s suddenly leaning over the counter, way into Stiles’ personal space, and gently pulling Stiles’ hand from the water glass. Careful to avoid the burn, Derek delicately turns Stiles’ hand, eyes scanning for damage. “You should run that under cool water for 15 minutes then wrap a cool, damp towel around it.”

“Yeah I’ll do that,” Stiles says, brain mostly offline at the sensation of Derek’s calloused fingers gliding so softly over his skin. “Uh, let me just get you your drink.”

Wisely, Derek takes the coffee lid from Stiles instead of letting him try to put it on one-handed. Taking his drink, Derek sets the money down on the counter and walks to the door, pausing long enough to turn and say, “I mean it, run that hand under cool water,” then he’s gone.

Stiles stares after him for a few seconds, unable to help it because hello, that ass, before the pain in his hand reminds him that yeah, he really does need to get it under water. For once, he was really happy that it was a slow day and the only customers in the shop were reading and studying in the corner with the overstuffed chairs. And he forgot to give Derek his shortcake. Burning himself and forgetting half of Derek’s order, Stiles’ day isn’t off to the best start. Maybe he can just drown himself under the faucet.

Scott arrives for his shift before Stiles’ can drown himself in the sink. The morning had picked up considerably around 10:00, lots of high school kids and a few adults who apparently didn’t care about being late to work. By the time Scott makes it, Stiles is a mess. Tables are dirty, the floor is covered in crumbs, and Stiles is pretty sure one of the high school jocks had spilled his coffee onto one of the armchairs and hadn’t said anything. Stiles knows by the expression on Scott’s face that he looks harried, but before Scott can say anything, Stiles points to the front counter.

“You, there,” Stiles says, then goes back to scrubbing the buttercream frosting that somehow got stuck to the shop’s front window. “How the fuck even.”

“Stiles?” Scott asks, frowning. “Why’s there a bandage around your hand?”

“Okay, Scott, I love you man, but I have at least two hours of cleaning left, the dishwasher exploded so there’s water everywhere, and I’m pretty sure there are cupcakes in the oven that are about to burst into flames, so _please_ ignore my hand and check on the cupcakes. Please, I beg of you, please,” Stiles says, well aware that he’s dangerously close to whining, but Scott holds his hands up in surrender and retreats to the kitchen.

There are a few minutes of blessed quiet, the only sound coming from the soft coffee shop playlist he’d found on Spotify (he doesn’t care what Scott says, Spotify premium is the best purchase he’s ever made), before the door opens and the early afternoon rush starts. The next few hours are full of Stiles frantically cleaning off tables in the 30 seconds between one group of people standing up and another trying to sit, helping Scott behind the counter, and dashing in and out of the kitchen to make sure trays go in and come out of the oven at the right times.

There’s a wonderful, beautiful lull in customers a little after 5:00 and Stiles takes the opportunity to sit at one of the vacant tables and try to catch his breath. Checking the clock on the wall, Stiles groans and lets his forehead thump (painfully) onto the table in front of him. Of all the days for Kira and Erica to call out sick.

The bell over the door chimes, signaling a customer’s arrival and Stiles kind of wants to cry. He’s exhausted, kind of sweaty, and his hand fucking _hurts_.Even so, he’s about to stand and be a responsible business owner when he hears the door to the back slam open and Scott’s footsteps running out.

“I’m here! Sorry! What can I do for you?”

God bless Scott.

Stiles keeps his head on the table, ignoring the quiet murmurs of voices, and contemplates the merits of just sleeping in this seat until tomorrow morning. Which is why he doesn’t notice that someone has walked up to his table until they slide into the seat across from him, bumping their knees together gently.

“Jesus Christ!” Stiles jumps, smashing his knee on the underside of the table and letting loose a truly impressive string of curses until he looks up into the gorgeous, half concerned, half amused eyes of Derek Hale. “Uh, I mean, hi?”

Derek snorts and shakes his head, but there’s a small smile on his lips.

“Hello, Stiles,” Derek says.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, then realizes how rude that sounded. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, I so am, you’re welcome here anytime. Oh my god, it’s because I forgot your shortcake this morning, I’m so, so sorry, I’ll go get that.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, stopping Stiles from standing up with a hand on his forearm. “I’m not mad about the shortcake.” Of course he isn’t, Derek is made of sunshine and unicorns and Stiles wants to wrap him in a warm blanket and play Enya while giving him coffee and pastries and, wait, is Derek looking sheepish? “I actually didn’t think you’d be here, I just wanted to drop off a few things for you.”

“You, huh?” Stiles asks, confused.

And yeah, the tips of Derek’s ears are definitely turning red. “Yeah,” Derek says and that’s when Stiles notices the small Walgreens bag on the table by Derek’s hand. Derek frowns, eyes zeroing in on the fraying, sad excuse for a bandage wrapped around Stiles’ hand. “Give me your hand, Stiles.”

Stiles does, not even thinking about it because whenever the weight of those multicolored, frankly ridiculous, eyes are focused on him, he tends to lose higher brain function. He’s still staring even when Derek’s gaze shifts to Stiles’ hand as he examines the gauze. It’s only when Derek starts unwrapping the makeshift bandage that Stiles looks away from Derek’s face, wincing in pain.

Derek’s attention immediately snaps to Stiles’ face, his brows furrowed in concern. “Is it bad? Should we take you to the ER?”

“No, uh, it’s not that bad. Just throbs and kinda burns,” Stiles says.

Derek quirks up and eyebrow. “Really, the burn burns. No kidding,” he says, completely deadpan.

Stiles snorts. “Smartass,” he says, hitting Derek with the uninjured side of his hand. Derek immediately snatches Stiles’ wrist out of the air and brings it back down to the table, gently cradling it in both of his large hands. Stiles’ breath catches as Derek runs a thumb over the pulse point on his wrist then immediately flushes, hoping that Derek can’t feel the way his heart starts racing.

“Be careful,” Derek says and god, Stiles is glad Scott’s there to deal with any customers because a t-rex could come crashing through the bakery and Stiles wouldn’t even notice. He is so fucked.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Stiles says. “I have this spatial awareness issue where I don’t have any.”

“I’ve noticed,” Derek says, but there’s not bite to his words. “Hold still.”

Stiles does, letting his hand rest in one of Derek’s (not exactly a hardship if he’s being honest with himself) while Derek rifles through the Walgreens bag before pulling out a small tube and a pair of those purple latex-free gloves and damn, Stiles is suddenly wondering if it’s because Derek’s allergic to latex and if so, Stiles had a whole bunch polyisoprene condoms...Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand for just long enough to put on the gloves before he takes it again. 

“This is aloe vera cream,” Derek says, squeezing a bit onto his finger. “It’ll help with the pain.”

Stiles jerks a little at the cold cream, then at Derek gently rubbing it into his skin. Derek was right, though, it does start to feel better, a little cooler, too.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, moving to take his hand back but Derek doesn’t let go.

“Not done yet,” Derek says. “This will just take a minute to dry, then we’ll put on a burn ointment.”

“How do you know all this?” Stiles asks while Derek prepares the next tube.

“Laura’s an ER nurse. She’s passed on some useful information over the years,” Derek says.

Stiles’ heart drops and he tries very hard not to let his face fall. Derek has a girlfriend. Of _course_ Derek has a girlfriend. There is no way someone as sweet and fucking gorgeous as Derek would be single. Something must show on Stiles’ face because Derek tilts his head to the side in silent question, like a confused puppy and damn, if Stiles doesn’t find that adorable.

Stiles shrugs. “So, over the years, huh? How long have you guys been together?”

Derek gives him a strange look then starts applying the burn ointment. “Since birth,” he says.

Stiles’ eyes widen. “Like betrothal? Are you in some weird religious cult?” Stiles blurts out, then snaps his mouth shut as he realizes what he’s said. Derek doesn’t look offended, though. He just shakes his head in a way that Stiles would like to call fond.

“I’m not in a cult, Stiles. Laura is my twin sister.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Stiles says sheepishly, feeling his face flush. “Yeah, uh, my bad there.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says with that little smirk of his. He grabs the roll of lightweight gauze from the bag and begins to gently wrap it around Stiles’ hand. “I’d take the gauze off to let it breathe while you sleep. Don’t wrap it too tightly if you decide to wrap it tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says softly. His hand is still cradled in both of Derek’s, the other man’s thumbs rubbing gently over his knuckles. 

“I’m not dating Laura,” Derek says suddenly. 

“Well, I mean, I hope not, her being your sister and all,” Stiles says.

Derek rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling slightly. “I’m not dating anyone,” Derek says, his eyes focused intently on Stiles. “I especially don’t want you to think I’m seeing anyone.”

Stiles’ heart starts hammering, mouth suddenly dry. He manages to ask, “Why’s that?” Thankfully, his voice only cracks a little bit.

“Because I want to take you out, if you’ll let me,” Derek says. Stiles’ brain just about skids to a halt as Derek gently lifts Stiles’ hand, pressing his lips lightly to the thin skin of his knuckles. 

“Me?” Stiles asks, sounding incredulous. “ _You_ want to go out with _me_. Scrawny, asshole, me?”

Derek frowns. “Yes, you. Smart, sarcastic, beautiful you,” Derek says. “I’ve seen you, you know. Seen you watching me. You’ve been driving me crazy for months, your teasing, the ridiculous pick-up lines, your damn mouth and hands are _sin_. I want to take you out, wine and dine you like you deserve, then take you home with me and fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my name. How does that sound to you?” Derek’s voice has dropped to a purr by the time he’s done speaking and Stiles thinks he might actually die. Derek Hale, hot, sweet, and has the dirtiest mouth…

“That sounds…yes, god, yes,” Stiles stammers out. Derek’s grin turns absolutely wicked and if Stiles wasn’t half hard before, he certainly is now. “When, uh, when are you thinking?”

“How about tomorrow night, 7:00?” Derek asks.

Stiles nods. “Yes, that’s perfect, beyond perfect. Like, wet dreams level of perfect, which I may or may not have had about you, oh my god please make me stop talking-”

Derek does, leaning over to kiss Stiles. It starts out soft and sweet, but quickly devolves into Derek filthily licking into Stiles’ mouth like a promise, like he’s ready to take Stiles apart piece by piece. Stiles moans into the kissing, giving as good as he’s getting, hungrily trying to devour Derek.

When they pull back to breathe, Derek’s pupils are blown wide and he looks as dazed and Stiles feels. (Stiles takes smug pleasure in that.)

“Here,” Derek says, plucking the pen that’s permanently situated behind Stiles’ ear and jots his number down on the Walgreen receipt. “Text me your address.” He stands, gathering the trash from the table, and gives Stiles a long, sweet kiss, more like the soft man who’d come in to take care of Stiles’ burn, rather than the man who’d just told him that he’s going to fuck Stiles until he can’t walk. The mischievous glint is still there in his eyes when he pulls back, though.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Stiles,” Derek says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, well aware that he’s grinning like an idiot. “Thanks for the first aid.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek says. “Try not to need more of it. I like you in one piece.” He shoots Stiles another small, private smile, then he’s gone, walking out of the bakery’s front door.

Stiles, a little shell-shocked and a lot excited, turns to the counter where Scott is standing with a huge smile and two thumbs up. He has a date with Derek Hale. Unattainable, perfect, giant marshmallow and apparently, dirty as fuck, Derek Hale. Stiles doesn’t even care that he’s worked over 12 hours in a row, this is the best fucking day ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on  tumblr or my main blog [ here ](http://femmmefatalist.tumblr.com)


End file.
